


Carthago, 146 a.C.

by SaveErenCorps



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Carthago, Roma, SPQR, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaveErenCorps/pseuds/SaveErenCorps
Summary: Finally after three tiring wars, Rome will take its revenge on Carthage, becoming the supreme king over the whole Mediterranean sea.
Kudos: 2





	Carthago, 146 a.C.

**Author's Note:**

> Carthago is kind of an OC that I took inspiration from varius version on the internet, I don't own anything.

The screams of the population dominated the sound of the flames that burned the temples of the acropolis. His brown eyes observe down from the rock the supremacy of that destruction equal to his greatness. No one had been spared: houses, temples, animals, men, women, children. Everything destroyed by his strength, from the strength of Roma.

'Save those inside the temple' Publius Cornelius Scipio Emiliano said to the legionaries, who respected each order. His eyes looked at the looks of the citizens who escaped death: they were desperate and distressed by their future. It was taken for granted that they all became slaves, but he was still sad in a way. They had escaped death and now their lives would no longer require be theirs.

He got off the acropolis with his horse. Fortunately he had some freedom at the end of each successful battle, so he also had time to find others like him.  
When he was born, there will not be much to understand that he was not like other men: He aged more slowly, his wounds healed immediately and had extraordinary strength. It didn't even take him long to want to meet others like him. In his life he had seen many of theme and all different in character and appearance. But, at that moment, he wanted to look for one in particular: Carthago.  
He had known him for a long time: he had spoken, laughed, discussed, fought with him. Now he hated him: He had threatened his people for three wars and now it would be destroyed at the root.

The city was silent. The streets were covered with corpses, the houses were upside down and some had gone up in flames. Only the hooves, together with the noises of a few other fires, made the flow of thoughts from Roma from below.  
He still remembers when he first saw him. Roma had left with only two servants. He had always been curious about others like him and had heard that there is one on the other side of the sea. So, he packed his bags and left. He took several days to arrive, but when he arrived, he was fascinated by his figure: he was very young, like he was at the time. He had very dark skin, black hair and two dark green eyes. When he met him the first time, he wore a tunic with a purple cloth adorned with gold on it, a sign of his wealth. He had found it very beautiful, but also very fearsome. He had seen it immediately in his gaze, and now it was a threat to his sea, to his population and to himself.

Riding through the city he remembers all the places he had visited with him. All the taverns where he had drunk with him. And all the lupanaras he had visited with him. It was inevitable that it would happen, two so strong could not be together so long.  
Finally he found it. It was inside a house of some common people. He got off his horse and went inside. Carthago had certainly noticed his presence, but he turned his back on him. He was bent over the body of a dead girl. Like the rest of the serfdoms and the family in that house too. Truly a bleak scene, but by now he was far too used to being touched by it.  
"You're happy?". It is not turned to him, but he felt the hatred in Carthago’s voice. "Are you happy with all this devastation that you brought?".  
"It wasn't me who destroyed you, but it was your decisions that led you to this."  
Carthago gently laid the girl's corpse near her loved ones, and then turned to Roma. A line of blood came out of his lips, while his eyes were fixed on him. He saw the flames of anger setting fire to his now fragile body and soul.  
"It's your fault that all my people are dead!" He launched himself towards him. Roma didn't move. A simple blow threw him a ground and to stop him only one foot in the middle of his chest. Carthago had become so weak. Every time they practiced fighting, they always ended up on equal terms. But today was not the day.  
He could still feel anger at him. Suddenly you feel something wet comes to his face: Carthago had spit in his face. A red spot like his cloak and the blood that covered the streets. He did not clean himself and went to his face. The shadow of death was now in his eyes that did not lose that flame of fury.  
"Last words?".  
Carthago smiled in pain. "Yes. Remember this destruction, remember the smell of the blood of the innocent, remember the flames of temples and houses and remember my face, because one day you will be like me. You will fall from your golden throne and you will see, like me, the destruction and despair of your people and you can’t do anything to stop your destiny. " He could not finish the sentence that the blade penetrated his chest. Not a moan, not a lament.  
He took up the weapon. Blood dripped on the ground and on the robe of the body. It was really disgusting. He crouched down and tore a flap from the body tunic. It was now in tatters and full of ash, but it could do. He wiped his sword from blood, then went back on horseback.

He returned to the camp and asked his servants to prepare the hot bath. Entering the tub, he sent the servant away and remained alone in the tent. There was no one in the camp, but it would not be long before they returned.  
Finally his limbs relaxed, all the tension accumulated in recent times had melted in the water along with the dirt, ash and blood. It was now becoming his habit to take a bath immediately after the end of the conflicts. It was like his purification rite. He had to admit it, he liked to fight but he hated wars. They were so exhausting and above all exhausting for himself and his people. The water was becoming increasingly brown and all his faults and thoughts ended up fueling the darkness of that color. But it was the first time that a hot bath made him become upset. He could not get Carthago's words out of his head. Those rang in his head, not letting him rest.  
After turning three or four times, he left. Too nervous.  
He knew that they were just words thrown to the wind, that had no value, but he could not stop thinking about it. What if he cursed him? He knew it was possible and he was very superstitious about those things. Or maybe he was just telling the truth? If he was right? It meant that someday he would weaken; his injuries would begin to slow healing; his body would have been more fragile; one day he could have died.

It was a second, he took the razor and cut his palm in the fist. Feel the pain of the cut and the flow of his warm blood. The razor was also stained with blood. He waits a few seconds, then opened his hand again. It was without a scratch, uncut. He burst out laughing. He had really been a fool to worry about such nonsense. As he thought: it was just nonsense spit out by a madman. He got dressed and called the servant.  
“Let's start packing! We go back home!".


End file.
